


Healing

by aquileaofthelonelymountain



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, bagginshield, sickbed fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 09:17:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12454284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquileaofthelonelymountain/pseuds/aquileaofthelonelymountain
Summary: Inspired by a lovely imagine by baggvinshield:bilbo telling thorin “close your eyes” and then slowly and methodically kissing his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, his eyelids, every inch of his face, thorin trembling beneath himYou can read the full imagine here: http://baggvinshield.tumblr.com/post/127211493578/baggvinshield-bilbo-telling-thorin-close-yourHonestly, read it, it's SO GOOD!





	Healing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [baggvinshield](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baggvinshield/gifts).



> Have some good old sickbed fluff ^-^

Healing, Thorin had been told, would take time.

He had understood despite the strong potions that had clouded his mind. Even now, as he didn’t move but lay still on his back, his whole body ached, and the throbbing in his side never ceased. Not that he would have been able to move properly, no. He was weaker than a new-born pebble, and small movements like tilting his head or raising his arm were enough to leave him fatigued.

He got the impression that he spent a lot of time sleeping, but he couldn’t tell how much time he actually was awake and how much asleep; his eyelids were always heavy as lead. He had a vague memory, though, of Óin seeing after him and talking to him, telling him that all members of the company were alright and that he needed to rest.

Even Thorin’s relief was strangely dulled by exhaustion. Despite his sluggish mind, he had managed to ask if Fíli and Kíli were alright indeed, if he could see them. But Óin insisted on not letting any visitors into Thorin’s room – too much excitement, he had said, and that wasn’t what Thorin needed at all. He had assured him several times, however, that the boys were alright.

It eased the pain in Thorin’s heart, at least a bit. He wanted to ask after the wellbeing of someone else too, but he wasn’t brave enough, and the question died on his lips.

It was too late anyway.

So Thorin kept his question to himself, and it never left him. It made his sleep even more fitful, and his waking moments were filled by another kind of pain, different than the physical one. He had been told that healing would take time, but this wound was too deep to ever heal. He knew. But he didn’t care.

Wearily he tilted his head; even this small movement sent a dull ache through his body. His eyes fell upon his hands – the hands that had held someone close to his heart over Erebor’s ramparts, had threatened to hurt, to kill him. He swallowed thickly. He wouldn’t even be able to apologize.

Bilbo was long gone.

Thorin looked at the stone ceiling. He couldn’t blame him. The Shire was his home, where he belonged to. He understood the hobbit’s wish to return there as soon as possible … just as he understood that he had not stayed until Thorin could speak to him. After all, what did an apology from the lips that had called him such horrible things mean? Nothing. And Bilbo shouldn’t be forced to confront someone who had threatened his very own life, whom he feared. It was easy to speak words of comfort to someone who was dying. But to forgive and go on as if nothing had happened? Impossible. Thorin’s heart contracted painfully. It was only fair that it wouldn’t heal. It was what he deserved.

His thoughts repeated themselves, kept circling around the horrible things he had done. He didn’t try to fight them back, but let them wash over him, lost in the dark chamber and in darker thoughts.

He only rose from his gloomy musings when a voice, faint and shaky, cut through them like a spear of light through a mass of heavy storm clouds.

“Thorin?”

The sudden glimpse of light, however, let the darkness crush down on him with more force the next moment.

Thorin clenched his fists to stop them from trembling as he slowly moved his head to meet the hobbit’s gaze. The first thing he noticed were the eyes, bright and glassy in the light of the single candle Bilbo carried. Then he saw the bandage around his head. Bile rose in his throat, and he lowered his eyes as shame and guilt threatened to suffocate him.

“Thorin, I … I apologize for storming in here like this. I know Óin forbids all visits to save your strength, but I … I just couldn’t stand it any longer. The waiting. The uncertainty. I had to see you. I had to.”

The words reached Thorin as if through thick fog, and his mind had difficulties to catch their meaning. But he knew that there was something wrong about them. I had to see you, Bilbo had said. But why? Why did he want to see Thorin? And why was Bilbo still here, and not on his way back into the Shire, back to his books and his armchair? To his garden, to plant his little acorn there?

“You”, Thorin began, and his voice was hoarse, “you are still here?”

There was silence. The dwarf didn’t look up. Instead he closed his eyes, exhausted from this one question. Tired, he was so tired.

“Of course I am.”

His eyelids fluttered open as he heard this soft voice. The weight upon his chest seemed to lessen a bit as hope flared up within him. But it only lasted a second before the ember died again, and he didn’t dare to look up.

Cautiously Bilbo sat down on the edge of the bed. He made sure not to touch Thorin’s wounded side, but he was close enough for the dwarf to feel the warmth of his body. It made his stomach twist with hope and guilt at the same time.

Small fingers cupped his face with the utmost tenderness. It didn’t hurt him – such a gentle gesture could never do so –, but it startled him. He hadn’t expected it, and he wasn’t prepared for the flood of emotions it evoked. Hope, disbelief, fear – there was too much for his aching heart to feel. His breath hitched as Bilbo leaned closer and whispered: “Of course I am here.”

The next moment, soft lips pressed against Thorin’s forehead and caused everything to stand still. His body, his mind, his heart – everything was frozen. But then the touch of lips was gone, and the whole world turned even colder. _Fool. How can you still hope after everything you’ve done?_

Suddenly he felt the warm caress of lips again, this time on the bridge of his nose. He slowly began to understand what it meant, and it was as if he felt warmth for the first time in his life. He knew fire – the scorching flames of a dragon as well as the tiring heat of the forges in the villages of men. But this gentle, soothing warmth, this was –

Bilbo.

The name bloomed inside of Thorin, amidst his very soul. With it came all the feelings he connected with this wonderful creature. The wariness of this stranger that had been forced upon their company by a meddling wizard. The confusion about this domestic hobbit giving up his comfortable home to help them take back their own. The growing acceptance, respect of their clever, brave burglar. Admiration, fondness, the sweet realization that it was too late, that Thorin was lost, lost for him. The sharp pain that his yearning would never be fulfilled. That everything he might wish for would never come true … if he dared to wish at all.

But this was real.

No sound came over Thorin’s lips. His body, however, betrayed his feelings. His cheeks were wet. His hands dug into the sheets, and they trembled as Bilbo took them and placed them on his hips. He gave them a reassuring squeeze, and he still covered them with his own as he began to kiss the tears away from Thorin’s face. His tender treatment only made them flow stronger.

Bilbo didn’t try to hush him with words, but patiently covered his face with soothing kisses.

Each kiss ripped through Thorin as he began to understand the meaning behind it. He had known that he had been trapped in the dark, miserable and suffocated, and he had come to accept his fate at some point. But now he felt like stepping out of the darkness into the fresh air, and he inhaled as deeply as he could despite his hitched breath. He tilted his head towards the warmth, trying to savour as much of it as possible.

Eventually Bilbo drew back a little, just enough to look at Thorin’s flushed face. He smiled fondly at him and raised one hand to stroke his cheek. The dwarf thought to crumble under this caress, and he took a shaky breath. Somehow he found the courage to look at Bilbo, truly look at him, and what he saw in his eyes finally brought a single choked sob over his lips.

“Bilbo …”, he began, his voice so raw it hardly resembled his own. There was so much he wanted to say – apologies, confessions and vows, promises to do better in the future.

Bilbo, however, sealed his lips with a kiss.

All his life long, Thorin would never be able to find the right words to describe what he felt in that moment. But even decades later, the memory would evoke impressions, countless and bright like the stars. Soft pressure against his lips. Taste of salt from his own tears. A copper curl tingling his forehead. The warmth. The knowledge that the impossible had become true, and that the deep wound in his heart was starting to heal despite everything. He would remember all this, every single beautiful piece of this mosaic.

Thorin tried to speak when they drew apart, once more bursting with the need to assure Bilbo of his feelings. And again, there was one thing that mattered the most.

“You are still here.”

His eyelids slowly fell shut despite the beautiful sight in front of him, but it wasn’t fatigue that pressed down on them. Thorin felt strangely light now, and he knew that his sleep wouldn’t be fitful, not this time.

“I am”, Bilbo said with another kiss to Thorin’s forehead. “And I will be here when you wake up in the morning. And the morning after that.” He let out a shaky breath. When he spoke again, his voice was hardly more than a whisper: “There are so many mornings I will be at our side.”

_And I’ll be at yours_ , Thorin wanted to respond. And evenings, and so many days and nights. But his thoughts became sluggish as sleep reached for him. He didn’t speak, but he felt a small, content smile on his lips as he fell asleep.

 

***

 

Bilbo watched how Thorin’s eyes fell gradually shut. He pulled the blanket up to his chin and breathed a kiss on Thorin’s soft smile. What a beautiful smile it was … And how he had feared that he might never see it again.

His hand trembled for a moment, but he shook off the memories of long, dark days of fear and uncertainty, and reached for Thorin’s temple. He felt Thorin’s beard under his palm, and he marvelled at how soft the dwarf’s skin was as well. Somehow he hadn’t expected it to feel like this, but had thought it would be … rougher, more dwarven-like.

Thorin always seemed so strong. _Had_ to be strong for so many people. But he had shown Bilbo his other side, the worried, insecure, soft one, and Bilbo only loved him the more for that. It touched him deeply that the dwarf trusted him to let him see this side. That he knew he didn’t have to be Thorin Oakenshield around him, Lord of the Blue Mountains and King under the Mountain, but that he could be Thorin. And Bilbo in turn knew that he didn’t have to be the respectable Mr Baggins of Bag End. When he was with Thorin, he could be himself, simply Bilbo. He had never properly realized it, but he had suffered from the expectations he had been met with, just as Thorin had. He bore scars as well, not like the one on the back of his head, but hidden beneath his skin.

Bilbo’s hand moved on, combed through dark tresses. Even in his slumber, the dwarf leaned into the touch. The hobbit smiled to himself. When he woke up, Thorin would probably mistake everything for a dream … and he would kiss his doubts away just as he had done with his tears.

And both of them would heal.


End file.
